Ephemeral Memories
by PrescitedEntity
Summary: Summary: Just as rays of light begin to dispel the darkness around the future, haze clouds his mind again. Can he overcome this new affliction of the mind? Amnesia, but no, Cloud hasn’t forgotten his past again, as that would be lame. [CloTi] [FFVII:AC]
1. The Cruel Affliction

Ephemeral Memories

A Final Fantasy VII Fanfic

By PrescitedEntity

Disclaimer: Do I really have to say anything? I wouldn't really WANT to own it, anyway - there are other game copyrights I'd like more.

The Cruel Affliction

* * *

She sat upon his bed, straddling a corner, in the still of the morning not yet broken. These were the comfortable hours of the day, when the stifling heat of late summer were still abated for the night, and the room calm, as the children were still in bed. Yet, she could derive no contentment as she looked upon him.

Dawn's first wan rays of light faintly illuminated his face, framed by a veritable bird's nest of blond hair. His expression was so relaxed, so peaceful, that Tifa wished he could remain as such forever, a sleeping beauty of a sort, though she could picture his grimace if she told him as much. Cloud could find solace in his dreams; yet, it was a dream that had brought about this state.

A dull fear washed over the young woman again. It was unlike the terror that she'd sometimes felt in the course of their struggles in the previous years, immediate and paralyzing – not the life-or-death, adrenaline pumping fear. This fear, though muted, was omnipresent, like the specters that he had fought with in his dream, and lost. It seemed that his past had a nasty way of striking maliciously whenever he'd gained even the slightest of joys.

Cloud's eyes fluttered open, and Tifa felt her heart twinge as pain slowly replaced the haze of sleep in them.

"So, what happened yesterday?" he intoned listlessly, the same question he asked the day before, or two, or for a year of days before – he couldn't be sure at the moment. Tifa averted her gaze, the blunt simplicity of Cloud's inquiry snapping her out of her trance-like state.

"We reopened the bar after the leak was fixed."

"Mmm."

"Didn't get too many customers, but it was reasonable, considering that it wasn't advertised." Tifa's mind vaguely marveled at how level her voice was.

"How were Marlene and Denzel?"

"Fine. Denzel wants a lock on his room to keep Marlene from snooping around." The way it sounded, it was as though they were having a bored, but amiable chat over trifling nothings.

"Is that it, then?"

"We made arrangements for your party." The words tumbled out of her mouth; she hadn't meant to let that slip. Her face reddened, and she kicked herself mentally for bringing up what would certainly ruin a day prematurely.

"Party? What for?" Cloud narrowed his eyes and frowned, eyebrows furrowing in consternation.

"Your birthday, Cloud," Tifa whispered, voice barely audible. She slumped, shoulders sagging, and stared intently at the ground, as though she could bore a hole in it with her vision.

"My birthday? Then, it's August?" The fact hit Cloud as ice water in the stomach, and he stared wide-eyed at Tifa, who tentatively lifted her head to face him, wringing her hands.

"Yes. It's been almost a month," the young woman replied, waveringly, feeling her chest constrict as Cloud turned away from her, staring ahead vacantly, blankly.

"A month...A month..." Cloud repeated as a litany, as if repeating it would make it somehow less true. The two sat as such for what seem an eternity as the light lazily began to fill the room, mocking their woes with the bright warmth and lucidity it brought.

* * *

Author's Note: Yep, it's short. Yep, it's me, your non-fan, writing again, ha. Why? Because when I learned of a certain disorder, anterograde amnesia (the inability to form new long-term memories), Cloud immediately popped up in my head, and far be it from me to deny a muse's gift (now, if only I could ever use it properly...).

Y'know, it rather irks me that I'm writing more Cloud/Tifa, considering the fact that I don't really care for either of them. I am, however, annoyed at the mischaracterization I see of them (Cloud the angst-ball moper or way OOC in a million diverse ways, Tifa the docile, cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat girly-girl, etc), so I guess that makes up for it, LOL.


	2. Cursed Are the Heroes

Ephemeral Memories

A Final Fantasy VII Fanfic

By PrescitedEntity

Cursed Are the Heroes

* * *

There was little place better for reflection than on Fenrir, with the scenery zooming past while passing through a picturesque countryside. Cloud didn't know, of course, that until mere days ago, Tifa had kept him from the delivery business, concerned that he might forget his destination, or worse, his way home. He had succeeded in convincing her that he wouldn't; for one, memories he already had had same clarity as ever, if not more so than before, owing to his less cluttered, emptier mind. Also, facts didn't elude him; he was perfectly capable of memorizing directions, instructions, information – anything impersonal. And so, after many days of fruitless contention, he'd finally been allowed to commence with his service, so long as the job didn't require more than a day or two's travel. Even unaware of the struggle for it, Cloud knew Tifa remained worried about him during those trips. He acutely noticed her fidgeting uncharacteristically before he left, pacing restlessly (she managed to curtail it a bit after he'd informed her that she might wear a rut in the floor), fussing over every detail, giving him maps and instructions. The second day or so, she'd even covered Fenrir with sticky notes about his task, mostly redundant and silly, drawing from him a scowl of incredulousness – did she sincerely expect him to drive around like that? It'd taken two hours of heated argument for her to concede to making a checklist for him, so that he could check off what he had done in case he forgot. At the end of it, she burst into a genuine laugh, rare in those days of stress and depression, and he'd smiled, a warm memory that he no longer had. 

It was salt in the wounds, insult to injury, that the last memories that he would have would be the unpleasant dream that had been the catalyst of his woes. He had a penchant, he thought, of living up to his name – certainly, he'd had more than his fair share of strife. His expression crossed as though unsure whether it should smirk or grimace at the pun; then after a moment, he decided to give up and let it simply go blank, as it usually was. Cloud didn't like to think on the matter, but given as it was always the thoughts freshest in his mind, he could hardly help it. It wouldn't do to wallow in self-pity at the moment, though, so he shook his head as though to throw the nagging thoughts off, and accelerated, as though to leave them far behind.

* * *

Tifa stood behind the bar, absently polishing a wine glass for the fourth time; it was so clean that it squeaked slightly - not that she noticed, being occupied as she was. So he had had no trouble, as far as she could tell, in memorizing directions and objective information; it didn't mean an end to his mental turmoil, and it didn't mean an end to her worries. She still felt a pang of fear and doubt strike her every time he made to leave, and the resultant jitteriness remained until he returned. As such, she lived in a vague dread of phone calls when Cloud was safely at home, going so far as to confiscate his cell phone and disconnecting their service when her trepidation was at its highest. After a while, though, it became clear to Tifa that doing as much was simply hurting her dearest friend, for no one can stand being cooped up and useless, so she relented, and let him go, resigned to dealing with the fears he left with her.

The brunette girl's apprehension was not, as Cloud assumed, wholly focused on his condition, though. Rather, it was largely the result of his actions in his struggle with Geostigma. He had left. Instead of seeking anyone – instead of coming to her, the person he was closest to, he chose to withdraw into himself, into seclusion. He came damned close to giving up and it tore at her in a way that no weapon could. After all they'd been through and faced together, he refused to trust her and receive the support she would readily offer.

"Tifa? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Lost in her heavy contemplation, she did not notice that Marlene had soundlessly entered the room; the sight of the young girl slightly frowning in concern jolted her back into world.

"You don't look so good," Marlene remarked, jumping and seating herself upon a barstool.

"Really? And what makes you think that?" Tifa asked, a hint of a smile toying with her expression while she put her hands on her hips in a jesting gesture of admonishment; she had to put up a strong pretense for her young charge. To her surprise, Marlene met her eyes with serious concern.

"You held that glass so hard that your knuckles were white." The matter-of-fact manner in which Marlene said these words took the young woman aback. Momentarily stunned, she felt her façade fade, felt specters shadowing her eyes before she regain control of her wits. She shook her head lightly, dark strands falling upon her shoulders, and, smiling weakly, replied, "It's nothing."

"She's worried about him." A boyish voice scathingly accused, with as much spite and venom as a youth of his age could muster. Both Tifa and Marlene turn to face the boy, whose scowl was as unnerving as it was rare. Or rather, was rare; he'd been gentle and quiet until recently, Tifa reflected – until Cloud...

"Denzel –"

At that moment, the door to the bar swung open lethargically.

"Cloud!" Marlene called, barreling to him and hugging him in a flying tackle, "You're home!"

"Hey, Marlene." Tifa suppressed the urge to giggle at Cloud's obvious discomfort and tentative, awkward return of Marlene's embrace - he looked like a shy little boy scared of contracting cooties. Her heart lifted at the sight of it; though he felt awkward, Cloud was trying, trying his best to overcome everything the world threw at him, and giving his care to those he loved. This contented mood was abruptly broken when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Denzel whirl out of the room and stomp upstairs, followed the slam of a door, loud and jarring.

* * *

AN: Sure has been a while. I hope I'm getting these characterizations half right, LOL. 


End file.
